Amelia

by Harvey Mendez

  “We’ve got to save Mother.” Amelia held him from pursuing Ito.

  “You’re right.” He watched her rise, pull on her dress. “You okay?”

  She nodded. “I’m glad you came in when you did. I wanted to fight, but—”

  “You don’t have to explain. I know.” He saw the disgust in her eyes. “I’ll take care of him later.” His face hardened. “Better find Joaquina.”

  They raced to the guesthouse in back. Lights shone through the drawn curtains. The door was ajar. Inside, a chair lay on its side and cigarette butts spilled out of ashtrays onto the table. A cord with frayed ends hung off the sofa. Vincent scrutinized the carpet around the couch, found what appeared to be bloodstains. He touched the wet droplets. The trail led toward the back door.

  “What is it?” Amelia stooped beside him, saw the blood. “Oh, my God! What have they done to her?”

  Vincent put an arm around her. “Harry must have taken her. His jeep’s gone—Ito was with us.”

  “What about Ruth? Ito sent her back here.”

  “She must be with Harry.”

  “Harry had Antonio killed.”

  “At the Grotto.”

  “Vincent, she can’t swim!”

  “Come on.” He gripped her hand.

  Amelia saw Harry’s jeep parked on top of the cliffs at the Grotto. She sprang from their vehicle, started up the path.

  “Slow down.” Vincent caught her. “Surprise him.”

  They crept through the tall grass toward the roaring water. Amelia tripped. She picked up a worn sandal. “Look.”

  Vincent held it to the moonlight.

  “It’s Mother’s.”

  Vincent motioned her forward. At the high bank, they peered over the edge.

  “Someone’s down there.” Vincent stripped off his shirt and removed his shoes. “Here, hang onto my gun.” He dove into the swirling water.

  “Mother!” Amelia dug her nails into her palms.

  Joaquina’s arms flailed in the water. “Help!” She went under.

  Vincent submerged, saw her kicking and thrashing near the bottom. He grabbed her hair. She clamped on him, her eyes squeezed shut, her cheeks popped out. He pulled hard, surged upward. She stretched out, clawed his legs. He yanked his feet loose, gripped her hair tighter, and shot to the surface.

  She burst into the air a few seconds later, spit out water, gasped for breath. Her arms smacked in and out of the water. She pushed away from Vincent, went under. He dove, tugged her hair upward, and clamped an arm under her chin from behind. She struggled but he held tight, stroked for shore.

  “Joaquina! Try to relax!”

  Amelia scrambled down the other side of the cliff to the small, sandy beach. She saw Vincent in the water, rushed in. Strong currents swept against her but she dug her arms into the water and swam toward him.

  Vincent’s eyes widened when he saw Amelia. He pulled her mother closer, cut through the water.

  Amelia stopped, treaded water when they met. “Mother! Is she breathing?” She touched Joaquina’s head, put her other hand on his shoulder.

  “The way she fought me, I’d say she’s plenty alive.” He rested a moment, caught his breath. “But, she swallowed a lot of water. Let’s get her to shore.”

  They pulled her toward land, riding with the waves. Vincent hit the bottom first, ducked under one of Joaquina’s arms, and hoisted her weight on his shoulders. Amelia lifted her other arm and they carried her to shore.

  Joaquina wheezed for air, coughed up more water. Amelia slapped her back until breaths came easier and her chest heaved with relief.

  “Oh, Baby!” She threw her arms around Amelia.

  Amelia hugged her. “I prayed we’d be in time.”

  “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” Joaquina collapsed on the sand. “Can’t believe I’m alive.” She looked up at Vincent. “Thank you. If you hadn’t—”

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to thank me.” He crouched, put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Who did this to you?”

  Joaquina peered at the cliffs outlined against the moonlit sky. “That German woman poked out my eardrum, made me take them—Stan’s papers... gone. Harry shoved me over the bank.” She tensed. “He may still be here.”

  Amelia saw blood draining from Joaquina’s ear. “I’ll get that Ruth.”

  Bullets pelted the sand around them. Joaquina flinched, covered her eyes with her hands. Amelia dropped beside her.

  “That son of a bitch!” Vincent threw his body over both women. “Back against the rocks. Roll on your stomachs.”

  They inched across the sand on their elbows. Bullets pitted their path, flew over their heads.

  Joaquina stopped, dropped her head. “Can’t go faster. You two go on . . .”

  They grabbed her arms, dragged her along to an alcove, and huddled against the rocks. Bullets ricocheted off rocks around them, fell in the sand. Joaquina cowered against Amelia.

  ”We’re sitting ducks,” Vincent said. “I’ll circle behind him.”

  Amelia squeezed his hand.

  “Just keep him busy—but don’t get too brave.” He moved off.

  “Be careful.”

  Vincent disappeared into a crevice in the hillside.

  Harry took a swallow from his whiskey bottle, fired again. “Great sport.”

  The bullets hit the rocks right above Amelia and Joaquina. They clung together, sank lower in the sand.

  Vincent parted the grass when he reached level ground behind Harry. He crawled toward him without making noise. Harry waved a bottle in the air, twirled a weapon with his other hand, and danced in a circle.

  Keep it up bastard. Just a little closer. Vincent squirmed forward.

  Harry stopped, aimed his pistol down the cliff. Vincent dove at him. The weapon fell to the ground, Harry on top of it. A loud blast cut the night air. Harry flinched, grabbed his shoulder. The gun flew over the cliff. Vincent hooked Harry’s hands behind his back, locked his grip.

  Blood spread over Harry’s arm. “I’m shot! Don’t let me bleed to death.”

  “I should kill you right now.” Vincent jerked him to his feet. “But I need Stan’s papers. Where are they?” He pushed Harry closer to the cliff’s edge.

  Harry’s face tightened, his forehead dripped sweat. “We don’t have them—I swear.”

  “Sure.” Vincent raised his foot to push him over.

  “Wait, nobody’ll ever find me!” Blood drenched his shirt. “I’ll get the papers, I have to see my father first.”

  Vincent lifted him by his jacket collar. “I think it’s time you went for a swim.”

  “No, please! I’ll tell you everything about Amelia Earhart. The Society has all the records.”

  Vincent lowered Harry to the ground, loosened his grip.

  Harry held his injured arm. “Amelia must be told the truth about her mother at Garapan.” He turned his back to Vincent.

  Vincent grabbed his shoulder, spun him around. Harry pulled a knife from his waistband, waved Vincent off, and staggered to the rim.

  He sat down, crossed his legs, and raised both arms to the night sky. “Forgive me, my dear father. I know I’ve disappointed you.” He shoved the knife into his abdomen, moved it from left to right, then upward, slashing open his stomach. Bowing his head he plunged over the cliff.

  Vincent rushed to the edge and stared at the turbulent water.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” The hard-faced squad leader’s parachute drifted from dense, heavy-leafed trees to a patch of barren, broken ones. “Bastard fly-boys dropped us wrong!”

  The rest of the ten-man Marine Recon Force landed on open ground or dangled from burnt branches. Gunfire cut men down before they could ready their weapons. Once-tall grass transformed into a carpet of bloody bodies.

  The commander of the elite Viet Cong patrol waded through the carnage poking his automatic rifle barrel in the faces of the dead Americans.

  * * * *


  Tad Yamaguchi picked up the telephone in his Brisbane apartment.

  “Toshio,” the voice said.

  “You call me that, here?”

  “It’s an emergency. Recon unit never found missile site. Got wiped out. Botched from the beginning. Our planes came in too high. Wind pushed chutes away from the jungle. VC waiting, like they knew.”

  “Damn!” Tad said. “We’ve got to knock out those launchers.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. You gotta take those Taiwanese troops you trained on Saipan—go back in.”

  “Yes, sir...”

  The other voice listened to the silence. “You’re hesitating, something bothering you?”

  “I didn’t want to get involved in this strike, just now. Certain facts in the Earhart matter have moved into place. I need some time. Are you still working on the Washington end?”

  “Yes, but it’s really buried. I’d have a better chance finding out who set up our Recon Force. I’ll keep looking. You take care of the missiles.”

  The phone clicked dead. The dial tone resonated in Tad’s ear. He stared into the mouthpiece, put it down. “I wonder if Ito...”

  Tad moved to the kitchen table, made a cup of strong coffee, and laid out new attack plans against the Soviet-built missile launchers. Whole squad killed. First assault plans—perfect. Someone got inside—Ito worked that way, agents in and out quick, out meant dead. VC wouldn’t get the new plans. He’d lead the group himself.

  The telephone rang again. Tad walked into the front room, lifted the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Dad, I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “Sorry, Honda, in and out a lot lately. War’s not going well. How about you, you okay?”

  “Yeah, but your buddy, Vincent, isn’t. Harry and his father almost killed him.”

  “So, Ito has surfaced. Reports on his movements were correct. Better watch it. You look so much like I did, Ito may snuff you. He still wants me from the war.”

  “I forgot about that,” Honda said. “You were with him in Tokyo, a trusted associate.”

  “Yes, trusted. If I hadn’t got out when I did, I’d be a dead trusted associate.”

  “Ito seems to have that quality about him.”

  “How’s Vincent now?” Tad asked. “Is he all right?”

  “Just banged up. They sent a guy to the hospital to make the hit, but Vincent escaped.”

  “Time we took out Harry and his old man. You do it.”

  Honda heard the coldness in his voice. “I thought you’d want to take care of it.”

  “I’d like nothing better, but things are crucial here—new mission—new info on the Earhart case is due.”

  “I found what you need,” Honda said. “Stan Adam’s secret papers—stashed them.”

  “You should’ve called me.”

  “Tried, you were gone. What next?”

  “Get rid of Ito and Harry. I’ll contact Electra.”

  “Done. Oh, almost forgot,” Honda said, “Ruth Keuhn showed up, posed as Emanuel Garcia’s wife.”

  “No wonder Garcia’s info never checked out. We crossed him off. Make sure you contain her.”

  “She’s like a cobra.”

  “Even cobras can be tamed. I’ll talk to you later.” Tad put down the phone, sat back in the large over-stuffed chair.

  After several minutes, he lifted the receiver, dialed. “Colonel—Toshio. Stan’s papers safe for the time being. Don’t worry, I’ll have Electra here when you need him.” Tad paused, listened. “Yes, Ito is the link.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Ruth entered the darkened house through the front door. She tiptoed down the hall toward a thin shaft of light. Muffled groans emanated from a bedroom. She tensed, peeked through the door crack. Two young, naked women grazed their small breasts over Ito’s body.

  Eyes wide open, Ito followed their every movement. Operatic music hit a louder pitch. He spread his legs, pulled one woman to his mouth, the other to his groin.

  Ruth backed away. Again—that bastard, I’ll fix him. She hurried outside.

  A car, headlights off, stopped in front of the house. Ruth saw a cigarette glow but could not see the driver. She hid behind a bushy hedge.

  The man opened the car door, walked to a front window. After several attempts to open the window, he moved to the front door. It opened. He disappeared inside.

  Ruth crept around the house to the back, peered into Ito’s bedroom window.

  Ito heard the tatami mats on the floor crackle. He pushed the women aside, reached for his kimono. One of the girls shot him a dirty look. He waved her off, reached into the nightstand, and pulled out a Luger.

  Ito pressed his back against the wall closest to the door, raised his weapon. He listened, then motioned one of the women to unplug the lamp. The doorknob turned, the door swung open. It almost touched Ito, flattened behind the door.

  Outside the window, Ruth pulled a flashlight from her purse, shined it on both men. They met face to face.

  “Toshio?” Ito tightened his grip on the pistol.

  Ruth heard the gunshot after she had backed away from the window. She ran to her car, drove to Tanapag Harbor. At a phone booth near the dock, she deposited a coin, dialed. A deep male voice answered.

  “You can find him now,” she said

  “Who?”

  “You know who—Triangle.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Back at his house.” Ruth slammed the receiver on the hook. “See how it feels, Ito.”

  Vincent put down the phone.

  Amelia walked into the kitchen. “Mother’s asleep now.”

  “Good, she was pretty beat up.”

  “We should’ve left her at the hospital, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

  He turned toward the door. “Keep her company, I’ll be back in a while.”

  “Vincent . . .”

  “Oh, sorry.” He put his hands on her shoulders, kissed her cheek.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Ito’s.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “No, you’re staying here with your mother.” He rushed out the door.

  Amelia pushed against the quivering screen. Vincent drove away before she reached the jeep.

  The man Ito called Toshio had fired at the beam of light outside. Ito dropped him with a round in the ribs then leaped across his body, groped for the light switch by the door. The two women cowered in a corner.

  Ito looked at the man on the floor. “You’re too young to be Toshio, but you look so much like him.”

  Marvin Honda Yamaguchi held his side, winced. “I’m his son, you bastard.” His breath came in fits, spurts. “He’s coming for you.”

  “All he’ll find is your body.” Ito cut the lights, left the room.

  The women disappeared behind him. Marvin lay in an enlarging pool of blood gasping for air until he lost consciousness.

  Vincent stopped at Ito’s open front door, poked his head around the frame. He edged into the darkened living room, his .45 caliber automatic ready. Moving down the hall, he crept from one room to another. Loud groans came from a rear bedroom. He quickened his pace.

  At the open door, Vincent spread against the wall. Deep, quick gasps flowed from within. He stuck his gun around the corner, slipped into the darkness, and tripped over a body on the floor. “So, someone beat me to you, Triangle.”

  The man lying under him moaned, rolled on his back. Vincent turned on the overhead light. “Marvin! That you?” Blood saturated Marvin’s shirt and the floor mat under him. Vincent tore a pillowcase off the futon, pressed it on the wound.

  Marvin’s moans grew louder. His eyes rolled, blood seeped from his mouth.

  “Dad, he . . .”

  “Hold on, I’ve got to get help.”

  “Ito, shot... gone.”

  “Take it easy.” Vincent lowered Marvin’s head, grabbed the phone on the nightstand.

  * * * *

  Amelia and Vincent walke
d down the hospital’s hallway, stopped at Marvin’s room.

  “Lucky the emergency crew got there fast,” Amelia said. “They’re usually so slow around here.”

  Vincent shook his head. “He passed out again before they arrived.”

  Amelia went into the room first with a bouquet of flowers from her mother’s front yard.

  Marvin smiled when he saw them. “Hi.”

  “We hoped you’d feel better today.” She laid the flowers by his side.

  Marvin raised his head on the pillow, put a hand on the flowers. “Thanks, I am. Bullet broke a rib, passed right through. Just cost me a lot of blood.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Vincent moved closer, stuck out a hand.

  Amelia cut in. “He gave blood for you.”

  “He did?” Marvin shot Vincent a surprised look.

  “No big deal,” Vincent said. “Your old man’s helped me out a few times. Oh, that was your boat in the harbor wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah it was and thanks for the blood, I appreciate it.”

  “By the way, how is Tad? We kinda lost track.”

  Marvin settled back on the pillow. “Dad never lost track of you.”

  “Sounds like my old buddy.”

  “He didn’t forget you,” Marvin said. “The VC captured him two years back. He was just rescued a few months ago. He sent me to Brisbane to find you, see if you were still working on Earhart. Dad would have come himself, but he’s on another mission.”

  Vincent looked out the window at small clouds riding the trades in the blue sky.

  “Always another mission for him.”

  “Seems so.” Marvin squeezed the flower stems.

  Amelia placed her hand on Marvin’s. “I’ll find a vase for the bouquet.” She walked into the hall.

  Vincent turned back to Marvin. “We’d better concentrate on catching up with Ito.”

  “Right,” Marvin said, “the VC probably got him off Saipan by now.”

  “Wouldn’t doubt it. He’s in tight with them. Anything to fight the U.S.”

  “Still? Why does he hate Americans so much after all these years?”

  Vincent pushed a chair close to Marvin’s bed, sat down. “We smashed all his dreams. It was the ultimate insult when we dropped the A-bomb. Not only lost his wife, he lost all hope. How could Japan fight back against such a terrible weapon?”